


Sherlock: Cups On Couches

by IBegToDreamAndDiffer



Series: Sherlock: Impact [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst, M/M, Pining, Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-23
Updated: 2012-01-23
Packaged: 2017-10-30 01:06:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,816
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/326066
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IBegToDreamAndDiffer/pseuds/IBegToDreamAndDiffer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mycroft Holmes pines for Greg Lestrade, Lestrade wants a partner. So what will happen when they meet at 221B?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sherlock: Cups On Couches

**Author's Note:**

> Ownership: Original characters are owned by Arthur Conan Doyle. These versions are owned by Steven Moffat and Mark Gatiss. I just get to play.
> 
> This is a partner series to my series, 'Sherlock: Colours'. No need to read the other series to understand this one but feel free to. It details the Sherlock/John relationship.

Mycroft Holmes had never met Gregory Lestrade. He watched him, of course, at first because the man was an acquaintance of Sherlock Holmes. It was only natural that Mycroft run a background check and find out everything he could on the man.

At the time he was forty-years-old, unmarried, a detective inspector with New Scotland Yard, gay, a beer and football lover and very, very ordinary.

Those were the first words Mycroft thought of the DI. Though it wasn’t in his file that Lestrade was gay, a little digging showed that the man had dated women until he was twenty-five. He had then come out, which was followed by twelve long fights with his parents before they finally accepted him for who he was. His friends hadn’t been surprised and their lives went about normally. His twin sister teased him endlessly, simply because she already knew.

The first time Mycroft saw DI Lestrade was from surveillance footage on his brother. Sherlock had passed out on a bench and woke to find a crime scene before him. Lestrade grabbed Sherlock for questioning and Mycroft watched the surveillance footage of his younger brother talking with the DI.

The crime scene was in a park, out of the way, and the body was splayed along the ground. Sherlock shouted out his deductions, ones that Mycroft had come to from the grainy footage. The woman was killed by her sister due to the fact she was getting married; the sister was jealous, always had been, and finally the jealousy turned into rage while they spent the evening sipping tea in their favourite childhood haunt.

DI Lestrade ignored Sherlock, of course, and had him dragged away from the crime scene. He then proceeded to check out each and every detail Sherlock had given him. A few hours later the sister was arrested, had confessed, and was being prepared for jail.

It was then that Mycroft was first surprised by the man. Instead of wrapping up the case, taking all the credit, and forgetting Sherlock Holmes existed, the man went out of his way to track down the young drug addict and tell him he was right.

Sherlock was surprised at Lestrade’s sudden arrival, and even more so at his declaration that Sherlock was brilliant. He then turned into the smug bastard he always was. Lestrade ignored all this and told Sherlock that, if he got clean, he could work more cases.

He left then and Sherlock sat for many hours, contemplating the DI’s offer.

Mycroft sat in his office and flicked open DI Lestrade’s file, searching the photo with wide eyes. DI Lestrade intrigued Mycroft. He was intelligent, a brave cop, a good man, and handsome...

Mycroft felt something stir in his stomach and was utterly confused. And Mycroft Holmes didn’t like being confused so he flipped the file shut and told his assistant, A, to put Lestrade under surveillance if Sherlock accepted his offer.

 

-oOo-

 

The next five years only further heightened the feelings Mycroft got whenever he laid eyes on DI Lestrade. At first it was just a physical attraction; the man was broad-shouldered, thin, with silvering brown hair and dark brown eyes. He made Mycroft... well, he turned the politician on. Mycroft had never been with anybody physically but he knew when he was attracted to people (exclusively men, making him realise at fourteen that he was gay). And he was very attracted to Greg Lestrade.

But over time it became a more emotional attraction. The DI was brave, smart, funny, charming... he caught Mycroft’s eye like nobody else ever had... and they hadn’t even met!

 He still hesitated to meet the man in person. While Mycroft had no qualms about kidnapping the people in his brother’s life, with Lestrade it was different. He made Mycroft feel things he’d never felt before.

He just had no idea what to do with himself. He knew everything about the man but had never met him, wasn’t sure if he _should_ meet him. For someone in Mycroft’s position, to be with another person was difficult. He was a workaholic, loved his job, and had no social life apart from parties he had to go to to ensure further contact with the people he manipulated. All of this was fine for Mycroft but also meant he didn’t have time for a partner.

Lestrade was much like him. He’d had relationships but nothing that lasted beyond a year. The man’s work, like Mycroft’s, bled into his personal life. Most people couldn’t put up with the crazy work hours, the danger, the sleepless nights and not eating properly. So Lestrade and Mycroft were both left to travel through life mostly alone.

And Mycroft didn’t know how to disrupt that. How did he go about confessing his feelings? Did he want to confess them? Five years into watching the DI, Mycroft decided that yes, he did. He could no longer continue to watch the DI and not be in the same room as him. Mycroft had to find out if there was any chance at... anything. Whether it was an acquaintance, a friendship, or hatred, Mycroft needed to know Lestrade as more than a file and a computer screen.

So Mycroft set about making sure he could meet the DI in person.

 

-oOo-

 

Greg Lestrade was tired. Tired of all the cases, the late hours, the crappy food, the being alone... all of it. He just wanted to go home and curl up in front of the TV with some takeaway and a beer. Wanting this was why the DI was alone. He was handsome enough, charming enough, to get a date but he was always so tired. People wanted to go out to dinner, to have fun, Greg just wanted to stay home and read a book. He wanted someone who understood that, sometimes, Greg needed quiet moments.

The man he was with didn’t seem to notice. He was busily describing... something to Greg, leaning over the table and talking loudly. It was nine o’clock on a Saturday and Greg wanted to go home.

His date was cute, of course, everyone who his sister set him up with was. But he was too young for Greg, too short, too boring. The man wanted to talk about crime and murder all night. Everyone always found Greg’s job exciting at first. But then the late nights, the danger, the cancelled dinners, it all made them pull away. And Greg let them go. Because as much as he hated his job sometimes, it was a big part of who he was. And he wasn’t about to retire.

‘Greg?’

Greg shifted in his seat and blinked. ‘Huh?’

‘You’re not listening.’

This happened quite often, too often for Greg to actually be embarrassed. Usually he apologised and paid more attention to his date but tonight he couldn’t be bothered. He needed a beer, a quiet night in front of the telly watching Doctor Who. They hadn’t ordered dinner yet so he could grab some takeaway on his way home, maybe a pepperoni pizza with olives, jalapenos and some garlic bread.

‘Look, I’m sorry, but I have to go,’ Greg said and stood.

‘What?’ the man blinked.

‘I’m not having fun, and I can tell you that you’ll be bored with me by the end of the night,’ Greg said. ‘So it’s been fun but I’m sorry, I’ll see you later.’

And with that he walked out of the restaurant and down the street.

 

-oOo-

 

Greg noticed the change immediately. While Sherlock liked to say he was an idiot, on at least four occasions during their encounters, Greg wasn’t stupid; he’d been made a DI for a reason.

So he noticed when John stopped standing so close to Sherlock, the way his eyes drifted way below the belt and stopped there. He noticed the increased breathing, the flush, the pupil dilation when Sherlock turned to ask John a question.

John wasn’t good at covering up his staring; there was a lot of throat clearing, face rubbing, twitching fingers. He’d stay at least a foot away from Sherlock while at the same time leaning closer, smelling, staring, blushing.

Greg smiled. He’d always thought there was more to the pair than met the eye but it didn’t seem they were together. John seemed as straight as they came. But now, he was definitely interested in Sherlock.

So Greg stepped closer to John as Sherlock bickered with Anderson and whispered, ‘Staring a bit too much, don’t you think?’

John jumped and his eyes went wide. He looked at Greg. ‘W-what do you mean?’

Greg smirked. ‘You’re staring at Sherlock. Well, _leering_ would be the more appropriate word.’

‘I-I don’t... I don’t know what you mean,’ John tried and swallowed, hard.

With a chuckle, Greg said, ‘You fancy a drink later? It seems Sherlock will wrap this up nicely.’

Sherlock was in the process of telling Anderson what he’d gotten wrong. John’s eyes ran over him carefully before saying, ‘A drink?’

‘To talk, John. About... you know.’

He watched John carefully as the doctor sighed and said, ‘Yeah, alright.’

‘Good, I’ll call you when this is all done.’ He had the doctor’s number for when it was impossible to get in contact with Sherlock. ‘Talk to you then,’ Greg said and smiled as Sherlock came over to tell Greg what an idiot he and the Metropolitan police were.

 

-oOo-

 

John was clearly nervous as Greg slid a beer across the table to him. Greg himself was relaxed, calm. He knew what it was like to suddenly discover you were gay, how awkward it was telling yourself before you told anybody else.

‘So, Sherlock,’ Greg said as way of starting the conversation.

‘What about him?’ John asked.

Ah, so he was going to deny it.

‘You like him.’

‘Of course I do,’ John said and sipped his alcohol. ‘I wouldn’t be his mate if I didn’t.’

‘But you don’t wanna just be his mate anymore,’ Greg said.

John choked on his beer and Greg smiled as he cleared his throat. ‘What’s that supposed to mean?’

‘How long are you doing to deny it?’

‘Deny what?’ the doctor demanded.

‘That you want Sherlock.’

‘I do _not_.’

‘John, I’m gay,’ Greg said, ‘so I know when one man is attracted to another.’

The squeak John made told Greg that the doctor hadn’t known he was gay.

‘You’re... you’re gay?’ John said, voicing Greg’s thoughts.

‘Have been all my life,’ Greg smiled.

‘Oh, right,’ John said and swallowed. ‘Sorry, I just didn’t know, I’m not against it or anything.’

‘This isn’t a date, John,’ Greg said, hoping John wasn’t getting the wrong idea.

‘Er, no, I know that,’ John said and smiled slightly.

‘You’re not my type,’ Greg said and sipped his beer. ‘I take it your type is a six foot tall sociopath?’

John was choking on his beer again. He coughed and spluttered, hit his own chest, eyes wide as they looked at Lestrade.

‘What are you talking about?’ he demanded.

Greg smirked and leaned back on his seat, draping his arm over the back. ‘You, John Watson, are gay.’

John was used to this. Since moving in with Sherlock he’d dealt with everyone assuming they were boyfriends; Mrs Hudson, Mycroft Holmes, Sally Donovan, Sebastian Whatever-His-Name-Was, Angelo, and every person they bloody passed on the street.

So he had his defence ready and said, ‘Just ’cause I live with a guy doesn’t mean I’m gay.’

‘No, it doesn’t,’ Greg agreed and sucked down half his beer. ‘But you want Sherlock.’

John was steadily going pinker. Soon he’d look like a giant piece of bubble gum wrapped in a brown jumper. ‘Excuse me?’

Greg smiled, easy, laid-back, knowing exactly what he was talking about. ‘John, I saw the way you were looking at Sherlock. Don’t lie to me. You’ve suddenly been looking at him a lot, right? And imagining what he looks like under that suit? And the feel of his skin, on your hands, lips, tongue–’

‘Yes, alright!’ John interjected, completely red now. He busily drowned himself in his beer and only came up for air when the glass empty. ‘I’ve... I’ve been thinking about Sherlock...’ he swallowed, ‘... a lot.’

Greg grinned in triumph. ‘I knew it!’ he said. ‘You were blatantly staring at his arse today at the crime scene.’

‘What?’ John groaned. ‘It was that obvious?’ Greg smirked at him and John moaned. ‘I’m gonna die now, leave me alone.’

Greg just laughed. ‘Liking another bloke isn’t a bad thing.’

‘I know that,’ John sighed, ‘but I never thought _I’d_ be in that position. I don’t... I just don’t understand.’

‘Has something happened between the two of you?’ Greg asked. ‘You know, something that would change your relationship?’

John hesitated, wondering if he should tell Greg the truth. Greg stared at him pointedly, waiting for John to make up his mind. John didn’t really have any friends. All his army buddies lived elsewhere and he couldn’t exactly call up his sister and ask for advice on dating a bloke. He realised Greg was his only chance to discuss this.

Finally, John sighed, and said, ‘I found out he’s been... cutting himself.’

Greg lowered his beer slightly. ‘Oh.’

‘You knew?’

‘Well...’ Greg said, slowly. ‘I saw the scars, and the cuts so I assumed he was doing it. I tried to stop him, you know, say something. But he just made a snarky comment and walked away every time.’

‘Yeah, sounds like him,’ John said. He got up and ordered another round, sliding the new beer across to Lestrade. ‘He just... I couldn’t believe it. I found a razor blade and this fucking cloth in the bathroom. I asked him about it, he said he cut himself because he liked it.’

‘He liked it?’ Greg asked. He could believe it, actually. Sherlock was a fucking junkie; addicted to drugs, crime, being a smug prick. No wonder he was addicted to slicing his own skin open.

John nodded. ‘It’s bullshit; he does it to feel in control. He likes the pain, it takes his mind off boredom. I asked him to stop and he promised he would. I got home a few days later and he’d punched out the mirror to stop himself. I had to bandage up his hand.’

‘But he didn’t cut himself?’

John shook his head. ‘No, he kept his promise. And since then, well... I’ve just been looking at him differently, I don’t even know when it started. Suddenly I just started, you know, feeling all... hard.’ He smiled weakly and turned red again.

Greg chuckled. Poor, suddenly gay Dr Watson. ‘So now you’re confused.’

‘Well, yeah.’

‘John, just go with it, that’s my advice,’ Greg said. ‘You like Sherlock, so just show him.’

‘How?’ John demanded. ‘I can’t just tell the man, he’s a bloody sociopath.’

‘Come on, we both know that’s not true.’

John nodded in agreement. ‘Yeah, yeah, I know. But it’s hard...’ he sighed. ‘I don’t know what to do.’

‘Wear some nice clothes, try a different cologne,’ Greg said and finished his beer. ‘That’ll make him notice you. He’ll try to work it out and he’ll realise you fancy him, then it’s all done and dusted.’

John snorted. ‘Like it’ll be that easy.’

‘Trust me, John. I’ve had forty-seven years of courting men; I know what I’m talking about.’ He got up and ordered another beer, gulping down four mouthfuls before setting it on the table. John eyed him warily. ‘What?’

‘Why are you drinking so much?’

Greg paused, staring at his beer. He was on his third, that almost half gone, and John had barely touched his second. He realised that probably looked bad and cleared his throat. Really he just wanted to wipe away the crimes of the day so he could go home and fall into a drunken stupor. He didn’t have anything waiting for him other than half a cold pizza. What did it matter if he stumbled into his flat drunk?

‘Just, you know, wanna relax.’ John raised his eyebrows. ‘Don’t believe me?’

‘I’m a doctor, Greg.’

Greg just shrugged and had another mouthful. ‘We’re here about you, not me,’ he said.

John nodded slightly but didn’t take his eyes off Lestrade, who frowned.

‘I’m fine.’

‘Are you sure?’

He nodded, his chest constricting tightly. He wasn’t about to tell John Watson, a man he barely knew, all about his fucking dating problems and lack of an actual life. ‘’Course I am, why wouldn’t I be?’

‘I dunno,’ John shrugged.

‘I’m fine,’ Greg assured him and took another large mouthful. John just stared at him. ‘Anyway, try my approach. See what happens.’

‘Mm,’ John murmured, wrapping his fingers around his glass. ‘Might try it.’

Greg smiled. He was glad, really. A good shag would make Sherlock Holmes easier to handle... or make him worse than ever. Greg pondered that as he finished his drink and didn’t notice John watching him carefully.

 

-oOo-

 

Another blind date that ended in disaster. The guy grabbed Greg as they were leaving the restaurant and pushed him up against a wall. His mouth was on Greg’s, his hips pushing into the older man.

Greg hadn’t had sex in a while so his body shivered at the touch. But his mind remained icy cold. He didn’t want this, sex with a complete stranger. Greg was forty-six, too old for one-night stands with guys nearly half his age. He wanted something more so sighed and pushed the man away.

‘What?’ the guy, Greg had forgotten his name, asked.

‘I don’t want this,’ Greg said.

‘What _do_ you want?’ the man asked.

Greg hesitated, looking at the man carefully. He leaned forward to kiss Greg again but the DI pushed him back. ‘I don’t know what I want,’ he admitted and turned away.

 

-oOo-

 

‘It’s not working,’ John hissed. They were at a crime scene, watching Sherlock do his usual thing. Greg turned to the doctor.

‘What?’

‘The whole clothes and cologne thing,’ John said, ‘It’s not working.’

‘Oh,’ Greg said, catching on. He’d noticed John wearing nice trousers and a button-up shirt, far more expensive than anything the doctor usually wore. And his cologne was different too, sharper, sexier. ‘Right.’

Greg was a little glad to hear that he wasn’t the only one having men issues.

‘So he hasn’t noticed?’

‘I doubt he hasn’t noticed,’ John grunted. ‘He asked if I was doing it to try and sleep with Sarah.’

‘Sarah?’

‘A woman I work with,’ John said, ‘a few dates, nothing serious. I broke up with her after I realised... well, after I realised I wanted Sherlock.’

‘Right,’ Greg said and looked up to watch Sherlock. The murder was fresh, less than five hours old, so there should have been plenty to keep Sherlock busy for a few minutes. ‘Maybe you should just tell him.’

‘So not gonna happen,’ John said. ‘No, I’m done. I gotta get back to the surgery, but when I get home I’m gonna stop fucking dressing like this. Sherlock has to have figured it out so clearly he’s not interested.’

Greg sighed. He’d been meeting with the soldier fairly regularly to discuss the whole “liking Sherlock” thing. So far there had been little to suggest that Sherlock was interested.

‘Don’t give up, John,’ he tried. ‘Sherlock’s a genius but he’s not a mind reader.’

‘I don’t care, I’m done,’ John sighed. ‘I feel like a right tit.’ He smiled briefly at Greg and said, ‘Tell Sherlock I had to get back.’

He stalked away, clearly annoyed, and Lestrade sighed.

‘John is mine.’

Lestrade turned slowly to see Sherlock standing before him, eyes narrowed. It was his “I hate you” face so Greg squared his shoulders, stood tall, and looked Sherlock in the eye. He couldn’t show any weakness when Sherlock was really annoyed.

‘Excuse me?’

‘John is mine,’ Sherlock repeated. ‘Stay away from him.’

Greg raised an eyebrow, realising that Sherlock knew about his and John’s beer dates. But they weren’t _actual_ dates, if that was what Sherlock thought.

‘Er, Sherlock, John and I aren’t... we’re not together.’

Sherlock’s eyes went wide and Greg cursed. Clearly this hadn’t crossed Sherlock’s mind because suddenly he was hyperventilating. Greg grabbed him and steered him towards a park seat, sitting down beside him.

‘Breathe, its okay, just breathe,’ Greg said, trying to soothe Sherlock back to his usual smug nature.

A few minutes later Sherlock composed himself enough to begin a rant. And try as he might, Greg couldn’t get a word in so he just let Sherlock blabber.

‘You and John? No, no, John’s not gay. No, even if he is, you’re not his type. He’s not yours, Lestrade, you can’t take him from me. Go have someone else, not John, please not John. John is mine, not yours, leave him alone. He’s not yours, Lestrade!’

Greg waited patiently and when Sherlock paused for breath he jumped in. ‘Right, first things first. No, I am not John’s type. Second, John has recently discovered a new side to his sexuality. Third, John and I would never get together, Sherlock, mainly because of you. Fourth, John is in love with you, you dickhead.’

Sherlock froze, glancing Greg over. Clearly he was trying to tell if the DI was lying and Greg continued to wait.

‘I... he... what?’

Greg nearly snorted. Sherlock Holmes, lost for words?

‘John has recently been having erotic dreams about you, Sherlock, ever since you stopped cutting yourself for him.’ He frowned at that but continued. ‘He told me and we talk about it at the pub every few nights. I told him he was completely in love with you. Of course, he tried to deny it, they all do. But he’s slowly realising that he’s in love with you. All I’m wondering is why you haven’t jumped him already.’

‘I... no, no, John’s not in love with me.’

Greg smiled. ‘Right.’

‘He isn’t.’

Greg looked Sherlock over before holding his eyes, searching. Did he really not know?

 ‘You really haven’t seen it?’ Greg asked. ‘You don’t know?’

‘Seen what?’ Sherlock demanded. ‘Know what?’

Okay, so a genius with the inability to see when people wanted to jump him. Right, Greg could work with that.

‘Jesus, Sherlock; everyone here can see it. John practically has a hard-on every time you look at him.’

‘He... what?’

‘A fucking erection, Sherlock. Jesus, you’re dense. He stares at you, licks his lips, flushes, gets a hard-on, touches you whenever he can, smells you for fuck’s sake. He’s in love with you. It seems you and him are the only ones who haven’t bloody noticed.’

He watched the realisation dawn on Sherlock slowly. No doubt the consulting detective was going through each and every moment he and John had been close, remembering the dilated pupils, the flushing, the staring, the gulping.

Bloody hell was Sherlock dense.

‘I don’t understand,’ he finally said.

‘Me either,’ Greg said and couldn’t help but joke, ‘I’m far better looking than you.’ Sherlock glared at him and Greg smiled. ‘Calm down, Sherlock.’

‘I... I don’t know what to do,’ Sherlock admitted.

Greg raised his eyebrows. Sherlock Holmes, unsure what to do? Well this was all very new. Greg wished he had a camera to document this sudden change in Sherlock’s personality.

‘Go kiss him.’

‘What if we’re wrong?’

‘We’re not,’ Greg tried to assure him.

‘I... I don’t... I haven’t kissed anyone in a long time.’

Greg looked at him carefully, suddenly wondering if Sherlock Holmes had ever kissed a man, or a woman for that fact. He was handsome, yes, but who would ever stick around long enough to kiss Sherlock Holmes?

‘Have you ever... er... kissed a bloke?’

Sherlock nodded.

‘And sex?’

He nodded again.

‘Right,’ Greg said, ‘well, you’re better prepared than John. He’s only ever had sex with women so it’ll be you in the lead.’

Sherlock blushed furiously and Greg grinned, knowing the man was suddenly visualising himself kissing John Watson. He was a lucky man; John was handsome, smart, good company, and very loyal. Greg would kill to have someone like that and he hoped Sherlock didn’t fuck it up.

He watched as a smile spread over Sherlock’s face and he saw the love in the man’s eyes.

‘Finally,’ Greg muttered.

This whole thing was like dealing with two idiots; Sherlock not realising he wanted John, John not wanting to admit he wanted Sherlock, both of them seemingly ignorant of each other and what to do. At least now they both knew.

‘Bit of advice, Sherlock,’ Greg said and stood. He smiled when he realised he had Sherlock’s undivided attention. ‘Have dinner, admit you love him, and bloody kiss him.’

And he walked away, leaving a confused sociopath wondering what exactly to do with John Watson.

 

-oOo-

 

Greg chuckled the next time he saw Sherlock and John. They were openly flirting, touching each other, and even kissed before Sherlock approached the body. Finally the two idiots where together and Greg truly felt happy.

But it was a happiness twinged with jealousy. Now even Sherlock Bloody Holmes had someone to go home to. Granted, he’d always had John to go home to, but now he had someone to hold him and kiss him and fuck him stupid. Greg wanted that.

He sighed, not liking that he had become so needy. But was it too much to ask for one man who could make Greg laugh and feel okay in the world? Clearly it was because the universe seemed determined to fuck him over.

‘Beer tonight?’ John asked, coming over and breaking Greg from his thoughts.

‘Yeah, if this case gets wrapped up,’ Greg said.

‘Okay,’ John said and stuffed his hands into his pockets. ‘Thanks, by the way.’

‘For what?’ Greg asked.

‘Your advice, your talk with Sherlock,’ John smiled. ‘Without you we never would have got together.’

‘Okay,’ Greg said, ‘no worries.’

‘It was the mother!’ Sherlock shouted, making Donovan wince beside him. Sherlock grinned and bound over to them where he quickly laid out his deductions for Greg. Greg nodded along and smiled when Sherlock took John’s hand. ‘Come along, John.’

‘Seven o’clock!’ John shouted over his shoulder.

It was just a beer, but at least Greg had something to look forward to, even if it wasn’t a date. It was better than going home and sitting in front of the telly alone.

 

-oOo-

 

Mycroft Holmes’ bravery had wavered. He continued to watch Greg Lestrade regardless, watching the tall man as he grabbed his coat and headed out. Mycroft knew where he was going; a pint with John Watson.

Mycroft smiled slightly and leaned back in his seat after flicking off the computer screen. He knew Greg had been instrumental in getting Sherlock and John together and it made him chuckle. Finally, the doctor had acted on his feelings. Mycroft had seen them there, all those months ago, when he and Dr Watson had spoken in the warehouse. Dr Watson had probably barely even noticed his attraction to the younger Holmes but Mycroft had seen; he saw everything.

He poured himself a scotch and sat back down behind his desk. He really should have been preparing for his meeting with the Queen but his thoughts were drifting back to DI Lestrade.

The man was... he was everything to Mycroft. He was all Mycroft thought about and it was becoming embarrassing. That he, Mycroft Holmes, had become enthralled with a normal man like Greg Lestrade was horrifying... but it had happened. And there was absolutely no way Mycroft was going to get over it if he didn’t meet the DI.

 

-oOo-

 

John Watson looked absolutely over the moon and it made Greg smile. ‘I didn’t think you were coming,’ he said and pushed a beer across the table to John.

‘Yeah, I just had to convince Sherlock to let me out.’

Greg’s mind was filled with so many images (most of them sexual), that he couldn’t help but raise an eyebrow and ask, ‘Keeping you busy?’

He grinned at the blush that crept across John’s face.

‘We... we haven’t...’ John began and sipped his beer. ‘You know...’

‘No sex?’ Greg asked and John shook his head. ‘Er, Why?’ They’d been together... about a month, Greg assumed, seeing as how John had all but been ready to give up. Sherlock would have had to act as soon as he found out for them to end up together now. ‘You’ve been together, what–’

‘One month,’ John said.

Greg couldn’t help but grin. ‘Ah, look at little Johnny keeping count.’

‘Shut up,’ John scowled and his cheeks turned an alarming shade of red. He was like a teenager with his first boyfriend.

Well, Greg guessed, Sherlock _was_ John’s first boyfriend, so John was allowed to blush.

‘I’m kidding, Doctor,’ Greg smiled, not wanting John to think that he didn’t understand. ‘You’re not ready then?’

‘No,’ John admitted. ‘I just don’t know how to... I dunno.’

‘It’s alright,’ Greg said and remembered his first time. ‘The first time can be painful, believe me.’

‘How did you manage it?’ John asked.

‘Well,’ Greg said slowly and took a big gulp of beer, ‘I was fourteen when I realised I was gay. Didn’t come out ’til I was twenty-five.’

‘And the sex?’ John asked.

‘I was... seventeen,’ Greg said, remembering.

Nathanial had been... he’d been cute, and smart, and very, very gay. They’d been friends since childhood and had practically grown up at each other’s houses. Greg had realised he was gay three years before he told Nathanial. Another sleepover, though when you’re seventeen you call it ‘crashing at a mate’s place’ rather than ‘sleepover.’

Nathaniel’s parents, Mr and Mrs Davies, had been out of London and they snuck into Mr Davies’ liquor cabinet. They had got drunk fairly quickly from cheap alcohol and suddenly Greg was confessing, “ _I’m gay._ ”

His friend had got serious then, the alcohol wiped away from his handsome face. “ _Really?_ ”

“ _Yeah,_ ” Greg had replied. “ _I’ve... I haven’t told anyone. But yeah, I’m gay._ ”

And then there was kissing, and Nathaniel saying he’d always found Greg sexy, ever since they’d started playing football together a year earlier. It was nice, and sweet, and so bloody hot. What followed was a lot of fumbling, and awkward moments, and finally sex.

It hurt, but was good, and Greg was glad to get it out of the way. He felt better afterwards, like he was finally admitting to the world he was gay. He’d hurt afterwards, could barely sit at school and the hangover was a killer. But later Nathaniel felt the same way. Everything ended with a big fight when Nathaniel’s family moved away and Nathaniel didn’t want to try anything long distance. That was how Greg’s parents found out...

Greg told John the short version, leaving out all the pain and hurt he’d felt when Nathaniel left. That was something he wasn’t ready to share.

‘I just don’t want to screw anything up,’ John admitted and Greg could hear the fear in his voice. ‘Sherlock’s told me he’s had sex with men before but he’s never been in love. What if I’m so rubbish he decides I’m not worth it?’

Greg couldn’t help but snort. ‘There is no way that man is going to lose interest in you.’

‘You can’t know that.’

‘I can,’ Lestrade said. ‘He’s an addict, our Sherlock. And he’s now addicted to you.’ He smiled as John blushed. ‘You want my advice?’

‘Yeah.’

‘Just... let things happen,’ he said. ‘You take Sherlock first. It’ll show you what it’s all about and give Sherlock an insight into what you like. That way he can use that to make your first time better.’

John was obviously confused because, slowly, he asked, ‘I... uh... me take him?’

Lestrade nodded slowly over his beer and tried his best to explain, ‘You be the top first time ’round. Or just be the top the first few times, let Sherlock be the bottom. He’ll work out what you like quick enough and then your first time won’t be so bad.’

John was blushing and Greg knew he was thinking about doing that to Sherlock, about being that close to another man. Greg smiled at his innocence, his lack of experience.

‘I... erm, yeah, yeah... maybe...’

Lestrade grinned at the colour creeping up John’s cheeks. The man blushed very easily when it came to Sherlock.

‘Ah, little Johnny is about to become a man.’

‘I’ll hit you, Greg, I don’t care if you’re a cop.’

Lestrade narrowed his eyes. ‘Bring it on.’

 

-oOo-

 

Granted, he hadn’t meant to get into a fight with John Watson. He groaned as he leaned back on his couch, both drunk and sore. His jaw hurt, his right eye was swelling. John had a   killer left-hook.

He nursed his bleeding left fist as he sipped from a bottle of beer and watched a DVD of Doctor Who. He lost a few moments appreciating David Tennant’s body before suddenly he was awake, the alarm in his bedroom going off.

Greg looked around and realised he’d fallen asleep on the couch. There was beer on the floor and the Doctor Who theme playing on his telly.

Groaning, he stood and grabbed a cloth to wipe up the liquid before hoping in the shower. He wished he had what John did; someone to go home to after a drunken fight with a friend.

But life isn’t that sweet.

 

-oOo-

 

Mycroft Holmes decided it was time to show his brother, and his brother’s boyfriend, that he knew they were in a relationship. He also decided to take the cameras and listening devices out of 221B. Nobody but Sherlock and John should have access to their sex life. Mycroft might have invaded people’s privacy on a daily basis but he wasn’t _that_ evil.

He also decided it was time he met Gregory Lestrade. Mostly because Lestrade had told Donovan, a Sergeant who worked with him, that he was going around 221B to take Sherlock’s statement again. Something about “dinosaur notes” that Mycroft didn’t understand.

So it was with nervousness and a tight chest that he stepped out of his car in front of 221B and told A not to disturb him unless it was absolutely necessary.

He climbed the stairs to 221B and knocked, knowing Sherlock and John were in. He heard Sherlock shout something and smiled as the door was answered by John Watson.

Mycroft knew John would be freaking out. Mycroft had, after all, kidnapped John just for _talking_ to Sherlock. What would he do know that the two were in a relationship? Of course, Mycroft had no plans to break them up, but he did enjoy the look on John’s face.

‘Are you feeling okay, Dr Watson?’ Mycroft asked, smirking. ‘You look a little pale.’

Mycroft could almost see the train of John’s thoughts; wondering just how clever Mycroft was, how much he could deduce, how much came from surveillance... what exactly Mycroft was going to do to him.

‘Are you going to invite me in, Dr Watson, or continue praising the Roman Catholic God?’ Mycroft asked.

He smirked when John squeaked, or whimpered, or whatever kind of noise that was. It was proof he’d been correct in assuming that John’s thoughts would have gone along the lines of: _OH GOD, OH GOD, OH GOD!_

It made Mycroft smile as he slid gracefully into John’s arm chair, settling himself down and tapping the floor with his umbrella.

 ‘Hello, brother,’ Mycroft smiled at Sherlock. ‘I trust your night was... pleasant?’

He smiled; he could hear John hyperventilating behind him, absolutely terrified that Mycroft was going to have him killed or removed or something else equally disturbing.

 ‘What do you want, Mycroft?’ Sherlock drawled, purposefully ignoring John so Mycroft wouldn’t look at him.

Mycroft just smirked. Sherlock wasn’t as easily ruffled as John Watson, but he still didn’t like that Mycroft knew so much.

‘I just wanted to visit my brother,’ Mycroft said. It was only partly a lie. ‘How are you?’

‘Fine.’

‘That’s good,’ he said and paused. He could smell something... lavender? Ah, yes, that would be the... ‘Is that lavender I smell?’ he asked, cutting off his own train of thought. If Lestrade was going to be there soon Mycroft did _not_ need to be thinking about bottles of lubrication. It was bad enough for a forty-five year-old man to get hard looking at a photo let alone... he stopped those thoughts quickly.

Sherlock tensed and glared at his brother as John stepped forward.

‘Look, you might not approve that I’m Sherlock’s boyfriend,’ John said hurriedly and both Mycroft and Sherlock looked at him. ‘But I care about him and I’m not going anywhere, got it?’

Mycroft smirked at him. It was a smirk of... delight. John Watson was standing up to Mycroft, though he was clearly terrified. He wanted Sherlock so much he was willing to fight the British Government to keep him.

 _Yes, a good man_ , Mycroft thought. _Sherlock is lucky._

‘Believe me, Dr Watson, I have no qualms about you being Sherlock’s... _boyfriend,’_ he said aloud, smiling. ‘I have no wish, nor do I have any plans, to break the two of you up.’

John stared at the government official, confused. ‘Oh,’ he said. ‘So, erm, you don’t care? That... that I’m a man, I mean, and that Sherlock’s dating me?’

Mycroft raised a perfect eyebrow just as Sherlock snorted. Clearly John wasn’t good at reading people or he would have known that–

‘My brother is gay, John,’ Sherlock said, interrupting Mycroft’s thoughts. He nearly sighed out loud. Sherlock could be so... annoying.

John looked at Sherlock. ‘What?’

‘Mycroft is gay,’ Sherlock repeated.

John turned slowly back to Mycroft, who pasted a polite smile across his face. He did love when people apologised to him and John gave it his best shot.

‘Oh. Er, right. Right... I’m... I’m sorry, Mycroft... I... I didn’t know...’ He could feel his face turning red.

Mycroft wasn’t about to pass up a chance to humiliate the man further, especially with Sherlock in the room. While he had no ill intent towards the doctor, Mycroft was a man of habit and he did love annoying people, almost as much as Sherlock.

‘That is quite alright, Dr Watson,’ he said and added a smirk. ‘I don’t make it a habit of introducing myself with my name as well as my sexuality. An easy mistake for you to make, I am sure, believing that I would for some reason be against my brother being in a sexual relationship with another man. But rest assured that I have no ill beliefs towards homosexuality.’

John was flushing even more now and Mycroft smiled, delighted he’d torn apart the doctor so easily. He was sure John was thinking something about Mycroft being able to humiliate someone while remaining perfectly polite. It was a skill Mycroft had worked on for years. Sherlock was very open with his humiliation, Mycroft preferred covering it with politeness.

‘Leave him alone!’ Sherlock snapped suddenly and Mycroft looked at him. Ah, here it was, Sherlock coming to his boyfriend’s aid ‘You’re just jealous that I have a partner and you don’t. How long has it been, Mycroft? Five years?’

Mycroft’s eyes narrowed. Sherlock knew perfectly well that Mycroft had never actually had sex, or even a relationship for that fact. But he supposed that saying five years was better than saying forty-four. Despite their rivalry, Sherlock did care for his brother; he wasn’t about to announce something so personal to John.

So Mycroft tried his best to be polite as he said, ‘I’m sure I don’t know what you’re talking about, dear brother.’

‘Why must you be so annoying?’ Sherlock demanded.

‘You are the annoying one, Sherlock,’ Mycroft couldn’t help but retort.

There was a knock on the door but Mycroft barely heard it. He was having a silent argument with Sherlock.

 _You’re just jealous I have someone,_ Sherlock was saying.

 _No, I am not_ , Mycroft replied.

_You wouldn’t even know what to do with a man, Mycroft._

_Oh, I’m sure your doctor will learn quickly, Sherlock. I’d hate for him to be... an embarrassment._

_Leave him alone!_

_Make me!_

_You are_ so _annoying!_

_I try my hardest._

Sherlock’s glare intensified and Mycroft shot one back.

 

-oOo-

 

Greg yawned as he walked up the stairs to 221B Baker Street. Bloody Sherlock Holmes had written all over Anderson’s notes and added little squiggles which Greg took to be Anderson and Donovan having sex with... dinosaur toys?

That was thoroughly horrifying and Greg tried to push those thoughts from his mind as he knocked on 221B.

John answered quickly and said, ‘Hey, Lestrade.’

‘Morning, John,’ Greg said and stepped into the flat. He noted that John was wearing pyjama pants and a crumpled t-shirt. He also noted that John seemed thoroughly satisfied and smiled. ‘I just came to ask Sherlock about the details of the case he worked two days ago. Apparently he decided that writing “ _Dinosaur-Lover_ ” all over Anderson’s notes was funny. Now I need to take his statement again.’

‘Yeah, ’course,’ John chuckled and gestured towards Sherlock, who was sitting on the couch glaring.

Greg approached him and spotted the other man, who had twisted around in his seat to look at Lestrade. He was tall, thin, wearing a very, very nice three-piece suit with an umbrella in his right hand. He had thinning brown hair and pale blue eyes, said eyes raking over Greg slowly.

Greg couldn’t help but stare. The man was... he was something else. While not obviously good-looking, he looked classical in those suits and he just looked so damn powerful, like he had the world at his feet. The fact that his eyes were all but popping out at Greg made him smile; the man was definitely checking him out.

Suddenly aware that John was staring at him, Greg swallowed and turned away quickly.

‘Hurry up, Lestrade!’ Sherlock snapped, apparently unaware that Greg had been ogling the mystery man. He jumped from the couch and pushed past his boyfriend to talk to Greg.

 

-oOo-

 

Mycroft was aware of John falling onto the couch but paid him no attention. Instead he kept his eyes on Greg, drinking in the man he had been watching for so long.

He was so much better in real life; broad-shouldered, rounded face, stubble along his jaw, dark brown eyes and spiky greying hair... he was so handsome Mycroft thought he might burst right there.

In an effort to regain some control, Mycroft straightened himself and felt his cock twitch. He groaned inwardly. Now was _not_ the time to get an erection, not with Gregory right here... and Sherlock, bloody Sherlock, always ruining everything.

Mycroft kept his eyes fixed on Greg, only looking away when he felt the other man’s slide towards him. He knew he was being an idiot; he was practically ogling the DI. But he really couldn’t help himself.

 

-oOo-

 

Lestrade himself could barely pay attention to what Sherlock was saying. He was teasing somebody and Lestrade did the appropriate eye-roll. He was trying very hard not to stare at the mystery man, sitting so close Lestrade could smell his cologne. It was mouth-watering and Greg wanted to jump him right there...

Greg really had to get control of himself. He was completely fucking losing it. He had to stop staring at the man now, now! His eyes shifted towards the tall man again...

Suddenly it seemed Sherlock was done and he fell onto the couch beside John. ‘Very well, Lestrade, you may go,’ he said.

Greg remained where he was, staring. He hadn’t heard anything Sherlock had said and couldn’t really ask Sherlock to repeat himself. That would just make him look like even more of an idiot. His eyes drifted from a bored Sherlock to a... smirking?... John to a very handsome mystery man... and then he looked away quickly, focusing on the wall, because the mystery man was staring _right at him!_

 _Oh God, he probably thinks I’m a pervert,_ Greg thought. _And I am, I am a pervert! Oh God..._

 

-oOo-

 

Mycroft didn’t want Greg to leave, not now. He hadn’t even introduced himself! His mind went into hyper drive as he tried to think of a scenario to get the DI to stay.

And then Greg was clearing his throat and Mycroft felt his heart drop.

 

-oOo-

 

Greg tried to get out a coherent sentence so he could hastily escape, away from the mystery man and his sexy body and penetrating eyes and– ‘Er, right, well I guess–’

And then John was on his feet, interrupting quickly. ‘Greg, you want some tea?’

As if Greg wasn’t confused enough by what had been happening lately; bad dates, no life, the jumpable mystery man, and now John was offering him bloody tea?

‘Tea?’ he said, frowning. He really didn’t understand. ‘No, actually I’m fi–’

But apparently John wouldn’t hear it and he dragged Lestrade into the kitchen, saying, ‘Tea.’

Once they were away from the mystery man and Sherlock, Greg turned to John. ‘What are you doing?’ he demanded.

John was smirking knowingly and before Greg could ask why he was doing that, John launched into a speech:

‘His name is Mycroft, he’s Sherlock’s older brother, by about ten years I think, he works for the government, has no understanding of privacy, likes wine, good food, discussions about politics, and is very gay and very available.’

Greg was absolutely frozen, shocked, incapable of a word. John smirked at him again and began fixing tea as Greg tried to find his voice. Was he... had he really been that obvious? Had his (apparently not casual) glances been so obvious that even John saw them?

 ‘Er... um...’ Greg managed to stutter, which really wasn’t helping his case.

‘Yes?’ John asked, patiently, smiling.

‘You saw that I...’ Greg choked out and swallowed, ‘that I was...’

‘Checking him out? Yeah,’ John said. ‘And Greg?’

‘What?’ Greg said, feeling like he could just melt right into the floor.

‘He was checking you out.’

Now _that_ was something to think about and Greg eyed John quickly. Greg had thought as much but didn’t really know for sure.

‘Really?’

‘Yep.’

They lapsed into silence as the kettle boiled. John poured boiling water into two cups and added sugar. Greg stared at the counter, unsure what to do. Had the mystery man– Mycroft (God, there were two Holmeses)– really been checking him out? Greg couldn’t see why. He was nothing to look at and lately he’d lost weight, had stopped shaving every day, and had pretty much allowed his appearance to slip. Why bother keeping himself clean when there was no one to impress?

But if... if Mycroft _was_ checking him out then... maybe there was hope for Greg’s life yet. Because he could not believe how absolutely attractive and fascinating the man was... and he hadn’t even had one conversation with him.

 

-oOo-

 

Out in the living room, Mycroft was feeling... tense. Was tense the right word? Probably completely-fucking-freaking-out was a better term. Because it had been clear on John’s face that he knew Mycroft had been eyeing the DI. And he was, no doubt, in the kitchen telling Lestrade what a complete freak he was.

Mycroft felt his stomach drop and suddenly he wanted to curl into a ball. He’d completely blown it in the space of ten minutes and all he’d done was look.

Sherlock was oddly quiet, humming under his breath. One look told Mycroft that Sherlock hadn’t seen his brother staring at the DI; he was too wrapped up in thoughts of John, in what John had done to him the previous night.

At least Mycroft was safe from Sherlock...

 

-oOo-

 

In the kitchen, Greg finally found his voice again. ‘Er, John?’

‘Yeah?’

‘Did... did he...’ Greg couldn’t get the words out.

‘Like what he saw?’ John smiled and handed Lestrade his cup. ‘Yep.’

Greg felt his face turn red alarmingly quickly. That Mycroft had been checking him out, eyeing him, ogling him... for some reason it was downright hot.

‘Right,’ Greg managed and sipped from his cup. He looked at John, who was just smiling. ‘Um, and you’re sure he’s gay? And available?’ He didn’t want to make a mistake now and mess this up. He wasn’t about to go flirt with a Holmes without knowing for sure that the man liked... well, men.

John seemed to be thinking about something important because his eyes wavered. But then he was smiling and talking.

‘Yeah, Lestrade, I’m positive. Now take my advice; go in there and talk to him. Flirt a little.’

Greg realised, though he’d guessed from John’s and Sherlock’s pyjamas at eleven o’clock in the morning, that the couple had finally had sex. He was glad for them, really he was, so he said, ‘I take it you and Sherlock...’

John was grinning now like a love struck teenager. ‘Apparently he likes being controlled.’

Greg couldn’t help but snort. John led the way back into the living room and Greg gulped down some tea, scalding his tongue, as he followed. His eyes immediately drifted to Mycroft and he smiled slightly.

 

-oOo-

 

Mycroft heard their approach and his eyes betrayed him, snapping to lock onto the DI quickly. He didn’t seem overly upset, more... nervous. Was Mycroft making him nervous? Why? Had John told him he was a lunatic?

Mycroft decided to introduce himself; it was a comfortable routine he knew well and thought it might help his brain get its bloody act together.

 ‘I do apologise for not introducing myself earlier,’ he tried to say smoothly, not sure if he was pulling it off. He rose from his seat and held out a hand, tentatively. ‘Mycroft Holmes.’

‘Gregory Lestrade,’ Greg said, clasping Mycroft’s smooth hand in his own calloused one. Mycroft tried very hard not to run his fingers along the DI’s fingers... he quickly realised he was still holding Greg’s hand and dropped it quickly.

‘It’s a pleasure,’ Mycroft tried to smile, hoping it didn’t come out creepy.

‘Yes, well, this is all lovely,’ Sherlock drawled, forcing Mycroft to turn away from Lestrade.

Greg quickly took a deep breath. He felt like he could fry an egg on his face.

‘But Lestrade was just leaving,’ Sherlock was saying. ‘You too, Mycroft.’

‘Lestrade’s staying for lunch,’ John announced suddenly.

Greg’s mouth dropped open and he looked at John. ‘I am?’

‘He is?’ Sherlock demanded.

‘Yep,’ John grinned. ‘Mycroft, would you care to join us?’

Mycroft’s eyes narrowed slightly on John and John beamed. Oh, the doctor definitely knew that Mycroft liked Greg... but why the sudden invite to lunch? Was this his way of getting back at Mycroft for torturing him earlier?

He didn’t know what John’s plan was but decided that lunch with Greg Lestrade would certainly outweigh it. So he forced himself to smile, politely, and say, ‘I would be delighted. If Sherlock doesn’t mind, of course.’

‘Of course I min–’ Sherlock began, only to be cut off by John.

‘He doesn’t,’ the doctor said quickly. ‘I’ll order Chinese.’ He dragged Sherlock into the kitchen to order.

Mycroft and Greg looked awkwardly at each other. Greg cleared his throat and said, ‘Er, should we sit?’

‘If you wish,’ Mycroft said, trying for smooth and probably sounding... well, like a posh dick.

Lestrade seemed to find this amusing and sat on the couch in Sherlock’s previously occupied seat. While Mycroft didn’t care for the couch, Greg was there so he sat quickly. He was suddenly aware that he was sitting quite close to the DI and gulped. How could he move without it being obvious that he was moving? And how could he move without embarrassing himself?

‘Are you okay?’ Greg asked, his police instinct kicking in. Clearly something was troubling the older Holmes.

‘Oh, yes, quite alright,’ Mycroft said and bit his lip. He sounded like a fool. He looked up to see Lestrade’s eyes locked on his lips and a blush crept up the DI’s face. He tore his eyes away quickly and gulped.

Mycroft was confused. Surely John had warned Greg... wasn’t that why he’d dragged him into the kitchen? Mycroft decided to deduce what he could right there and then, ignoring the fact that it was DI Lestrade; he needed truths, not fantasies.

The man was slightly flushed, gulping a lot, hands clenching and unclenching, eyes darting to Mycroft and away again. He was... was it attraction? Was Gregory Lestrade attracted to _him_?

No, Mycroft decided, he couldn’t be. That just wasn’t possible. Greg was handsome and smart and funny and... and he was everything Mycroft wasn’t. The only thing Mycroft had was a brain.

He swallowed and leaned slightly away from Greg but was aware his knee was still pressed against Greg’s thigh. He tried not to think about that as he said, ‘So, it seems we’ve been commandeered into lunch with my brother and his boyfriend.’

Greg smiled and said, ‘Yeah, well, John’s not very subtle, is he?’

‘Subtle?’ Mycroft asked, confused.

Greg stared at him. Did he really not realise what John had just done? He seemed as intelligent as his brother, but... it hit Greg quickly. Oh, yes, Sherlock had the inability to see when people were attracted to him. If Mycroft was like that too...

As if someone else had hijacked his brain, Greg leaned towards Mycroft and said, ‘John is trying to set us up.’

He instantly regretted saying it because Mycroft jumped, as though physically shocked. His eyes went wide and he stared at Greg, his mouth gaping slightly.

‘Sorry, I thought you realised,’ Greg said, ‘I wasn’t exactly subtle.’

‘Subtle?’ Mycroft asked, again, his brain seeming to freeze.

‘Erm,’ Greg said, fiddling with his shirt cuff. ‘I, er, was kinda... checking you out... before... erm... yeah... he said... said you were checking me out too...’ Greg stared at his own knees, not wanting to meet Mycroft’s eyes. What if John was wrong? What if Mycroft didn’t want anything to do with him?

Mycroft himself was completely shocked. John had... John had taken Greg into the kitchen to talk to him about... about _Mycroft._ About how they’d both been... they’d both checked the other out... Mycroft’s brain was slowly turning to moosh.

‘Clearly he was wrong,’ Greg said quickly. ‘Don’t worry, I’ll skip lunch, you can stay.’ He made to get up but Mycroft put a hand on his arm. Greg turned to look at him.

‘I was... also... looking...’ Mycroft managed, a slight pink tinge colouring his pale cheeks.

Greg smiled slightly. ‘Really?’

Mycroft nodded. Greg’s smile broadened and he sat back down, thigh back against Mycroft’s knee.

‘Good.’

‘Good?’ Mycroft asked.

Greg nodded. ‘Yes.’

‘I’m afraid you’ll have to be more specific, Detective Inspector Lestrade,’ Mycroft said. ‘I don’t quite understand.’

Greg’s smile widened. ‘I’m glad you’re attracted to me because I’m attracted to you.’

Mycroft just stared, could feel the blush creep up his face. ‘I... er... really?’

‘Yes. And please, call me Greg.’

Mycroft smiled and looked down, at the couch, at anything but the man before him. He’d imagined this moment a million times but had never thought it would be this... simple. That Greg found him attractive, after one meeting, made his chest tight and his crotch... well, it was brilliant.

They sat in silence for a while, both processing the information. Mycroft couldn’t believe that DI Lestrade was attracted to him. How could it be possible?

As Mycroft fought internally with himself, Greg just stared. The man before him looked complicated, and seemed... older than he appeared, like he had the weight of the world on his shoulders. He seemed tired, and stressed, and hungry, and about a dozen other things to Greg.

He couldn’t believe he felt this strongly for someone so quickly. It wasn’t just the sexual attraction (there was a lot of that!) it was something else... Greg wanted to learn all there was about this man. He didn’t know why, he just did.

‘Talking would probably help,’ Greg said, awkwardly.

Mycroft blinked and looked up at him. ‘Oh, yes, right.’ He cleared his throat. ‘So, Gregory,’ he said, smooth politician suddenly back. It made Greg blush and he smiled. ‘Tell me about yourself.’ He, of course, knew everything about Greg but he wasn’t about to tell the man that.

Greg angled his body so he was facing Mycroft, wanting to give the man his full attention. He smiled and said, ‘Well, I’m a cop. Er, Sherlock works with us sometimes and... that’s about it.’

 ‘Oh, I’m sure that’s not true,’ Mycroft said, almost breathlessly. Suddenly his mind was working again and he was trying very hard to please Greg. ‘I’m sure you have many fascinating secrets.’

Greg couldn’t help but smile. He decided to put his arm onto the back of the couch and nearly moaned when he brushed Mycroft’s shoulder. Mycroft turned red, slowly, and cleared his throat as Greg’s smile turned into a grin.

‘Well, Mycroft,’ Greg said slowly and was pleased to see the politician smile at the use of his first name, ‘I’ll have to make sure you don’t find out _all_ my secrets. A man has to have some mystery, don’t you agree?’

Mycroft nearly burst out laughing. He had more secrets than probably anybody else in the British Empire. Well, perhaps with the exception of the Royal Family.

He smiled and said, ‘I quite agree, Gregory.’ He vaguely heard Sherlock make a choking noise from the kitchen and said, quietly, ‘Sherlock and Dr Watson are spying on us.’

Greg raised an eyebrow. ‘Is that so?’ He moved his hand ever so slightly and brushed it against Mycroft’s shoulder again. Mycroft swore the warmth from Greg’s fingers shot straight through the fabric and into his skin.

‘Erm... yes,’ Mycroft managed.

‘Hmm,’ Greg murmured and rested his cup against the couch. ‘Mycroft, do you date a lot?’

Mycroft jumped. ‘Excuse me?’

‘I was wondering if you’d like to go on a date... with me.’

‘With... you...’ Mycroft said, unable to think of something intelligent.

‘Well, quite frankly, I think you’re gorgeous,’ Greg said and smiled as Mycroft’s face turned red, ‘and I want to date you.’

‘Oh... I see...’

‘Would that interest you?’ Greg asked.

Mycroft didn’t trust himself to speak. Him... on a date... with Gregory Lestrade. He felt like he could faint right there and then. Instead, he managed a nod.

‘I’ll take that as a yes,’ Greg smiled. He felt something stir in his chest and realised, with pleasure, that it was joy.

And it was Mycroft Holmes making him feel it.

And _it_ made him smile broadly.


End file.
